I was a big Aimee Mann fan, back around the time of her first solo album. I can remember seeing her live, in Aberdeen during my first year of art school, and just being… smitten, perhaps? Being very wowed by the whole experience, the quieter folky-songs like this, and the more power poppy numbers that ripped off the Byrds so gleefully and openly. Listening to this again, years later, I find myself focusing on the oddness of her voice and how melancholy the song is, how little it has to do with the Fourth of July aside from the wonderful “What a waste of gunpowder and sky” line.
Being an internet refuge for Graeme McMillan
